


The boys are back in town

by Punch_Detective



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-Typical Body Horror, Canon-Typical Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Gore, drabbles with plot i guess? idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-27 21:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30128988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punch_Detective/pseuds/Punch_Detective
Summary: What's good, this is a series of short little blurbs that I'm writing about my hunter OC, Cecil, who is an asshole and wants to be a squid.  My friend @Aster_Writes_Here's OC Quincy is here too.  Go read Aster's stuff she's good.Not too sure where this is going honestly, I'm just having fun and felt like writing some stuff for Bloodborne!
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

They followed behind the outsider, a few paces back but still close enough to hear him over the cacophony of howls and shrieks that filled the Yharnam alleyways on the nights of the Hunt. Though both hunters were worn down, they had enough skill between the two of them to dispatch any beasts who got too close for comfort. Of the two, the Yharnam-born Hunter seemed more exhausted - occasionally slipping in the puddles of blood that stained the streets of the city and needing to pause to catch their breath. But they always regained their footing and continued on.

"Cathedral Ward ain't much further." The outsider said, glancing back at his companion. "C'mon, pardner. We can rest there. My friend should be waiting for us.”

“And this friend… You trust him?”

Quincy stopped, one foot up on the stairs as he gave the other hunter a quizzical look.

“You Yharnamites are a suspicious bunch. Why wouldn’t I trust a friend?”

“The, uh… Beast plague makes it hard to put a whole lot of trust in your fellow Hunters.” They said, face twisting into a smile that was far from happy. “One day, they’re as human as you or I. The next… Well, you saw what happened to Father Gascogine, didn’t you?”

“Right… You’ve been living with this for a long time, haven’t you?”

Quincy’s question didn’t quite get a response. The other hunter had stopped, and was staring off into the distance with a furrowed brow. Their pale grey eyes were searching the visible rooftops, and one of their gloved hands had covered their mouth slightly - but not enough to hide the fact that their lips were moving silently. Quincy turned to follow their gaze, but only saw the rooftops and the beasts crawling on top of them. This was far from the first time they had seemed to notice things that Quincy didn’t, always getting a faraway look in their eyes and seeming to focus on their breathing more than was strictly necessary.

“Were you… Part of the church?” Quincy asked, lightly touching his companion’s arm to try and gently rouse them from whatever reverie they seemed to be in. “Are you praying for the Beasts?”

They jerked ever so slightly, blinking as if they had been startled before clearing their throat and starting off towards the Cathedral Ward once again. “I was, yes.” They admitted. “But I… I came to disagree with some things the Healing Church was doing, so I left.”

“Sorry I asked, then.”

“Ah, don’t be. You wouldn’t have known.” They shook their bloodstained overcoat, though it did nothing to improve its cleanliness. “I don’t quite fit the part of a man of the cloth.”

With that, the Yharnam native caught a leaping beast in mid-air with a swing of their weapon, the serrated blade digging deep into flesh and sinew and splattering gore across the walkway. Their movements were smooth and fluid, blade only stopping when it was halted on thick bone before cracking through and spilling the beast’s marrow on the ground alongside its viscera. They stepped over the corpse and shook their weapon off, carefully holstering it for a moment to extend a hand to Quincy to help him across the narrow stairs.

The pair eventually reached the Cathedral, without either being too worse for wear. Quincy went on ahead as his companion slowly pushed the heavy doors closed - not fully trusting the incense to keep the beasts at bay.

"Ah, you've made it back!" A voice came from inside, and a man came up at a half-jog, grasping Quincy's arm with both hands - his face alight with a bright smile. "You've brought someone! Another hunter?"

"Yes!" Quincy turned, turning to introduce his companion. Their already pale face was somehow even paler in the Cathedral, and their lips were pressed together into a thin line. "Uh… Cecil, this is--"

"Alfred." They interrupted, staring down the Executioner, seemingly on edge. "We've… Met."

"We have?" Alfred asked, seeming just as taken aback as Cecil. "I… I can't say I ever recall meeting you."

"I can't say I'm surprised. We met on a Hunt. You were injured. If I look like I've seen a ghost, well…" Cecil paused, a rough chuckle leaving them. "I didn't think you survived. It's good to see you alive and well, Alfred. The head wound seems to have healed."

Alfred hesitated, his hand unconsciously rising to touch his temple. There was a thin scar there, hidden by his golden waves. It was not a scar he advertised, so if the other hunter knew about it…

“Then I am glad to see you healthy as well, friend Cecil!” The Executioner decided, clapping them on the shoulder. He was taller than the other hunter, but only just. Of the three of them, Quincy was the shortest and the slightest. Cecil and Alfred admittedly had similar builds, though the taller of the two was the only one who could easily wield the Kirkhammer. Cecil favored a saw cleaver - a basic, but efficient weapon that they set aside before they excused themself to a private room.

\---

Cecil closed the door to the room they had taken as their own and breathed out a shaky sigh, setting the bag they had been carrying down on the floor. Alfred… They really hadn’t expected him to be there. They hadn’t expected him to be still alive. That all was true.

But the two of them had not met on a Hunt. Cecil pulled off their Hunter’s overcoat, letting the bloody garment fall to the ground. They tugged off their gloves and left them where they lay before pulling out a white robe and laying it on the bed, carefully brushing off a seemingly invisible speck of dust from the lapel. With great reverence, they pressed the robe to their face and took a deep breath, breathing in the fabric’s scent.

A knock at the door almost caused them to drop the robe, whirling around so that it was hidden behind their back, just in case the door opened.

“Cecil, Eileen’s hurt. She fought Henryk, but she had to run to make it out alive. We think she’s going to be okay, but… I know you two are close.” Quincy. His voice was gentle, breaking the news with the sort of candid grace only a gentle farm boy born far from Yharnam could. “Just… I thought you’d want to know. She asked me to finish the job, and I think her invitation will extend to you and Alfred too.”

“Thank you.” Cecil turned away from the door, folding their robe up once again. “I’ll be out in a minute, I’m just changing my shirt.”

They opened the door wearing a new, clean overcoat and holding a rough handful of clean bandages. Even though they had rested, they still looked as exhausted as ever. As Quincy put a hand on their shoulder to lead them to Eileen, he briefly glanced into their room. He did not recognize the significance of the single, white robed sleeve hanging out of Cecil’s bag.

Quincy only caught a glimpse of the room before Cecil closed the door behind them, hurting to find Eileen. The older woman was seated on the ground, her crow-feather cloak discarded for the time being. Alfred was holding pressure on her most grievous of wounds - her entire lower left arm had been severed, and the flow of blood had only been staunched by the belt she had wrapped around it. Eileen’s breathing was fast and shallow, but she managed to wave at Cecil the moment she saw them.

“Don’t move.”

Alfred and Cecil had spoken at the exact same time, with the same sense of authority and urgency. Alfred looked surprised as the other hunter knelt next to Eileen and started doing their best to treat her wounds. Eileen was less so, and only groaned and leaned her head back on the bedroll. More minor injuries were stitched up under Cecil’s practiced hand, while Alfred mainly worked to keep Eileen from bleeding out.

“She needs blood treatment.” Alfred finally said, glancing up at Cecil. They had finally pulled their long hair out of their face, but still only met his eyes for a moment before looking away. “I can go get it. It will only take just a moment.”

“Go. I’ll keep her awake.” Cecil finally said, carefully placing their hand on the side of Eileen’s mask. Alfred stood to leave, his brows furrowed together with worry. Cecil glanced around as Eileen coughed, her breathing still labored.

“Looks like I have to retire.” Her commentary was as wry as ever, though Cecil remained grave. “Tell me, Cecil. Do you see anything?”

“Nothing of concern. There’s still things in here, too, but it’s nothing that’s going to try and harm us.”

“Hm.” Eileen followed Cecil’s gaze, saw nothing, and then returned to looking at the hunter. “They don’t know, do they? You haven’t told them who you really are.”

“I haven’t. It hasn’t been… The right time for it.”

“It’s going to catch up to you. All of your lies of omission. Someone’s going to start putting the pieces together.”

“You mean like you did?” Cecil raised an eyebrow at Eileen, and the older woman only scoffed.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Cecil. You aren’t as good at hiding it as you think you are.”

“Ah, but you’re not the one I’m trying to hide it from.”

“Cecil.” Eileen was stern, raising her remaining arm to grip the hunter’s collar. “What you’re trying to do, it’s not something that other hunters will take kindly to.”

“But I can do it without hurting anyone who is still human.” Cecil carefully removed Eileen’s hand from their coat, folding her fingers over and letting her lay her arm back down. “I know I can. We both know what happens if I can’t.”

Alfred’s footsteps announced his return with the equipment for Eileen’s blood treatment and ended any further conversation between her and Cecil. If Alfred noticed the abruptness with which the two had stopped talking he didn’t mention it, though it was more likely that he was too focused on setting up the transfusion to notice anything seemed off. 

\---

With Eileen stabilized for the time being, the three Hunters met to discuss what to do. Henryk obviously needed to be dealt with. Blood-drunk hunters were a threat to everyone in Yharnam, and the three of them eventually came to the decision that they would, with Eileen’s permission, finish the job she had started. Quincy was the one who went to talk to her. Alfred had gone to pray at the Executioner’s shrine, and Cecil had once again excused themself to their room to rest. Nobody really questioned it, since the hunter perpetually looked exhausted, so it fell to Quincy to talk to Eileen. The hunter of hunters was still resting where she had been treated, and glanced over when Quincy entered the room. 

“You’re finishing it for me, aren’t you?” Eileen asked him before he had a chance to speak. “Good. I can rest easy knowing you’re working on it. Is it just you, or all three?”

“All three.” Quincy admitted, pulling a chair over so he could sit. His brown duster was damp from Yharnam’s mist, but it was clean for the time being. “Don’t think any of us are looking forward to it, but…”

“It needs to be done.” Eileen was grim as ever, and she winced as she pushed herself closer to a sitting position. Someone had stitched up the worst of her wounds, and the blood treatment seemed to have bolstered her strength. “It’s an unfortunate necessity, and you three hunters have my blessing to handle it. Try to make it quick, for all of your sakes.”

Quincy stood to leave, but was stopped by Eileen’s hand on his arm. Evidently, she wasn’t finished talking. “Hunter. My cloak. I want you to wear it. It should fit. The other two are a bit broad, and I don’t think Alfred would change his cloak, even to honor an old hunter’s wishes.”

He placed the feathered cloak around his shoulders, keenly aware of Eileen’s sharp gaze on him as he prepared. The feathers draped around him, giving the appearance of a crow’s wings when they caught the air as he turned. A nod of approval was all Eileen gave him before Quincy turned to leave.

“One last thing, Hunter.” Eileen said, and something in her tone made Quincy pause. “Keep an eye on Cecil for me, will you? They don't look it, but they’re already quite mad. I trust you to do what needs to be done, should it come to it.”

\---


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil talks to Alfred and then goes to pay Djura a visit. Is there a plot to these? maybe sort of but I'm not super concerned with continuity or like, keeping to canon.

Cecil approached Alfred, their expression haggard as blood dripped from their saw cleaver. The three hunters had split up for the time being, and Cecil and Alfred were the first to regroup. Cecil had been hunting their way through what was left of Hemwick, before returning to Yharnam proper and investigating parts of Iosefka’s clinic. Alfred met them on a balcony, turning to give them a withering look. Cecil set their saw cleaver down and raised their now-freed hand to catch the robe Alfred threw at their face. Glancing down, Cecil’s expression soured.

“You went through my things.” They hissed, eyebrows furrowing together. “Did you suspect me of being a Vileblood, O great hunter?”

“I didn’t know  _ what _ you were.” Alfred’s tone was icy, but civil. “If I thought you a Vileblood, I wouldn’t have been quite so lenient with your oddities. I suspected something, but not… A member of the Choir.”

“ _ Former _ member of the Choir.” Cecil corrected, walking to Alfred’s side and leaning on the railing, looking out over Yharnam. “The Choir doesn’t employ Hunters. Not really.”

“So why did you hide it? Who else knows?”

“Fuck, Alfred.” Cecil pinched the bridge of their nose. “Why did I hide it? You’re wearing Executioners’ robes, even though they all  _ died  _ at Cainhurst years ago. You idolize Logarius, a man I’m not convinced you even met, and you don’t seem to question an ounce of the Healing Church’s doctrine. Why do you  _ think _ I hid it? I didn’t know how you, specifically, would react to someone who was in the upper echelons of the Church, delving into the arcane secrets of the blood, and then  _ left the Church _ . As for who knows? Eileen. You. Quincy knows I was part of the Church, I told him that much, but he’s an outsider. He doesn’t know about the Choir, nor would he understand its significance. I- I don’t remember if I ever told Djura, but I don’t think he would care too much at this point. I think that’s everyone who’s still… Alive and sane, at least.”

Alfred’s hand rested on Cecil’s shoulder in a display of something that was either sympathy or pity.

“Obviously you lost your faith.” His voice was gentle, and he gave Cecil’s shoulder a light squeeze. “I can’t pretend to understand the Choir’s role, but… You don’t need to be ashamed. I know not everyone can hold fast to the Church’s beliefs as well as I-”

Alfred stopped mid speech as Cecil started laughing. Their laugh had started as a shaky wheeze that could have been mistaken for crying, but now it was reaching maniacal pitch. His hand left Cecil’s shoulder, straying instead to the blade of his Kirkhammer as the other hunter continued to giggle. Slowly, Cecil regained their composure - and Alfred’s hand was stayed when they turned to look at him with clear eyes. The light that glittered in them was mad, certainly, but they did not seem to be blood-drunk.

“You think I lost my  _ faith _ ?” Cecil asked, wiping a tear of mirth away from their cheek. “Alfred, dear sweet Alfred, I don’t need  _ faith _ . My path is clear, and I know exactly what I need to do, and how to do it. My sight is  _ expanded _ beyond yours. I left the Healing Church because of some fundamental disagreements between myself and the rest of the Choir.”

Alfred looked at Cecil expectantly, waiting for an explanation that did not seem to be forthcoming. Instead, the former member of the Choir had lapsed into silence, studying the path ahead with an unsettling intensity. The pair were silent as Alfred shifted to try and follow Cecil’s gaze.

“What do you… See out there?” Alfred eventually asked as Cecil rubbed their eyes.

“You don’t want to know.” They mumbled. “It’s… It’s a lot, really. I know what I need to do, though.”

Cecil turned, still holding their Choir robes in one hand. They delicately folded the fabric, and placed it back in their bag before once more taking up their saw cleaver. Before the hunter left, Alfred cleared his throat.

“If you’re not part of the Choir anymore, why do you still carry those robes?”

“Probably for similar reasons as to why you wear Executioner's robes, but I’m not prying into your secrets, am I?” It was Cecil’s turn to be icy, but civil. “Tell Quincy I’m going to Old Yharnam. Someone needs to tell that madman Djura about Eileen. Don’t follow me, if either of you get shot because of me I will never forgive myself.”

“How do you plan on avoiding getting shot?” Alfred seemed genuinely curious, and somewhat bewildered.

“I’m, uh. I’ve got a sign that says don’t shoot and I’m gonna hope for the best.”

\---

Djura had, thankfully, seen Cecil’s sign before opening fire. They made it up to his rickety shack without much issue, focusing entirely on dodging the beasts’ swings until they reached the relative safety of Djura’s shack. Though, knowing Djura, “safe” was a bit generous of a descriptor of his shack. “Beast-free” was probably more accurate. The wood creaked under Cecil’s boots as they greeted Djura, clasping the retired hunter’s hand and giving him a tired grin.

“So! To what do I owe this pleasure?” Djura asked, leaning on the massive gun he used to protect Old Yharnam from hunters. He squinted at Cecil, his remaining eye curious in Yharnam’s half-light. “You’re not really the type to pop over here for a little visit. Something about guilt.”

“I know you said it wasn’t my fault, but I still feel bad.” Cecil looked out the window. “They’re your beasts. I’d feel bad no matter how it died.”

“Cecil, it fell while trying to bite your head off.” Djura’s tone was halfway between exasperated and amused. “And you know that’s not what I meant. Every beast used to be a human. It’s just out there-” he gestured, indicating the smouldering Yharnam skyline “- you get to pretend that’s not the case.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing, Djura. I don’t ignore it. Every beast I’ve killed was once a human. I know. Don’t think me blood-drunk.” Cecil folded their arms over their chest before scoffing quietly. “You know the other hunters think you’re crazy. They call you the mad hunter Djura.”

“That’s a bit rich, coming from you.”

Cecil only laughed at Djura’s remark. There was no animosity between the two hunters, though Cecil was fairly certain if they ever intentionally hurt a beast in Old Yharnam, the retired hunter would have their head on a pike.

"Every hunter thinks all the other hunters are out of their minds. The only ones who might actually be sane are the newcomer and Eileen." Cecil mused, pushing some of their hair out of their eyes. "Which… brings me to why I'm here."

That got Djura's attention. The man had been mostly casual, leaning on his gun and spending most of the conversation looking out of the window. Cecil's tone had changed, and Djura's eyebrows furrowed together as he sat up straighter, his dirty cloak flapping slightly with the motion.

"What happened? Is Eileen all right?"

Cecil shook their head. "She'll live, but… Henryk went mad. He got her pretty good, she's definitely going to have to sit this hunt out, and maybe even retire." They paused for a moment, indicating their left arm about where Eileen's had been severed. "He got her arm."

"Shit." Djura's statement summed up his feelings quite efficiently. "I always thought the only thing that would slow her down was losing a limb. Did you need anything from me, or was this just a courtesy? Make sure I knew type of thing?"

Cecil smirked slightly, pulling a folded and bloodied piece of paper out of their pocket and handing it over to Djura. The man unfolded it and studied the writing quickly. It was Eileen's handwriting, and a list of measurements. Shaking his head and laughing, Djura pocketed the paper.

"Well, that's just like her. Still not slowing down. Any reason you came to me?" Djura didn't bother with trying to hide his excitement. The man had once spearheaded the Powder Kegs, and if the gun he used was anything to go by, his unorthodox and creative streaks were still going strong. Cecil could all but see the metaphorical gears turning in his head as he returned to his post at the gun.

“Who better than the Workshop’s heretic to build a new arm for the hunter of hunters?” Cecil’s question was clearly rhetorical, and Djura chuckled again. As the other hunter started to leave, Djura sat back one last time, looking at Cecil’s retreating back.

“Hey, you ever going to tell me what your plan is?’ He asked, causing Cecil to pause for a moment. “It’s not like I can tell anyone if it’s some grand secret. They wouldn’t believe me even if I did.”

“I want to end this.” Cecil’s voice was soft. “The hunts. It’s nigh time we stopped living like this. Whatever that entails. The people of Yharnam deserve better.”

“You’re out of your mind, kid!” Djura called after Cecil, shaking his head as he tracked the younger hunter’s path out of Old Yharnam. They didn’t harm any of his beasts, but he still watched them like a hawk until they were gone from his sight. Once they were gone, Djura once again shook his head and sighed. He didn’t know exactly what Cecil meant by ending the hunt, but his gut told him it couldn’t be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can yall tell im having fun lol?? Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ah shit, there's a plot now sort of.
> 
> Cecil's brain explodes. Yep that's it that's the chapter/part/whatever this is.

“Oh, Amygdala, have mercy on the poor bastard!”

Cecil grit their teeth, struggling against the monster’s hand. Blood dripped from their nose, ears, and eyes as they tried to free themself. Their actions were deliberate - it wasn’t like they hadn’t  _ seen  _ the massive spider-like monster lurking inside the cathedral. It was Alfred who hadn’t seen it. Quincy had walked right past its hand, but Alfred had paused to look when Cecil had reflexively tried to warn the other two hunters. As the air around Amygdala’s hand started to ripple, Cecil had run forward and shoved the Executioner as hard as they could. Alfred had fallen back, taken completely off guard by his companion’s sudden turn for the violent. A rock had cut into his head when he fell, and he was about to demand to know why Cecil had done such a thing when he saw the other hunter freeze, staring above them at something that he could not see. The air around Cecil warped and shimmered, and then, seemingly, they exploded into blood.

Now, the hunter was being held several feet in the air and struggling against the full-grown Amygdala’s hand. The creature’s head - if that’s what it even was - tilted slightly, and Cecil wheezed in pain as its attention was more firmly focused on them. Then there was the matter of the grating, disembodied voice. Cecil had no idea if Alfred and Quincy had heard it too, or if it was a message only for them and the Amygdala that clearly wasn’t paying any attention to the speaker. Its gaze was only curious, and somehow that was worse than any alien malice could be. If it had been malicious, Cecil would already be dead, and death would have been a mercy compared to a Great One’s curiosity.

As it was, the hunter’s strength was rapidly fading. Amygdala’s initial grab had broken something, probably a rib, and the prolonged contact with something so inherently  _ other  _ was making Cecil’s skin crawl in a way that they feared was wholly literal. A garbled cry broke from the hunter’s chest as they forced their arm free and thrust their hand forward. Something in their gut twisted, and seemingly from nowhere a spearlike projection of tentacles erupted forth, cutting into the Amygdala’s arm.

It couldn’t have caused the Great One anything more than a scratch, but it was enough to make it drop Cecil with a surprised cry that shook the cathedral. The hunter hit the ground hard, bone crunching somewhere in their legs as they fell in a bloody heap. Alfred uncovered his ears - when the Amygdala had screamed, he reflexively covered them even though he could neither hear nor see the creature. All he knew was something had literally pulled Cecil into the air, and now they were laying on the ground, deathly still.

“Did you see what caused that?” Alfred turned to Quincy, already going to Cecil’s side to make sure the other hunter was still alive. Though their eyes were glassy and blood still dripped from their nose, Cecil’s breathing was strong. Their chest heaved as if they had just sprinted across Yharnam, but they were alive.

“No.” Quincy had fared worse from the Amygdala's shriek. The man had actually heard it, though he wouldn’t be able to describe what he had heard. Every hair on his body was standing on end, and he shook as he made his way to Cecil’s side. “No. I didn’t. What…  _ Was  _ that?”

“I don’t know.” Alfred admitted, shaking his head. He put a gloved hand on Quincy’s and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “But we have to get out of here. Do you think you can help me move them?”

As he spoke, Alfred ripped off a clean-ish tatter of Cecil’s clothing to mop some of the blood off of their face. He wasn’t sure what it would do, but despite his misgivings about the hunter, he didn’t want to see them soaked in their own blood. The touch made Cecil twitch, but that and the breathing was the only signs of life from the hunter.

“I- Yeah.” Quincy tore his eyes away from the rough area where Cecil had been lifted into the air. He could almost see the outline of something moving, but it was indistinct and made some animal part of his mind scream that he should run.

“I can carry them, but I won’t be able to use any weapons.” Alfred said, carefully scooping Cecil into his arms. That caused the injured hunter to thrash, but they stopped when whatever deep, instinctual part of them seemed to realize that Alfred was not a threat. “You’ll have to clear the way for us, Quincy.”

“You sure you should move ‘em?” Quincy asked, gripping his weapons tighter. “They look pretty badly hurt, and the beasts don’t seem to want to come in here…”

“Quincy. You’re not from Yharnam.” Alfred’s sharp tone was softened by the knowledge that it was being caused for concern for one of few remaining fellow hunters. “When there’s no beasts, it’s caused by incense, fire, or something worse than them. I don’t smell any incense, and I don’t see any fire. That means whatever caused  _ that _ to happen is still in here with us, and neither you nor I can see it. So, even if it’s not what we should do, we are moving Cecil, and we are getting out of here.”

\---

Cecil regained consciousness slowly. They mumbled to themself incoherently, gaze unfocused and glassy. The mysterious bleeding had stopped, but drying blood still caked their face and ears despite Quincy and Alfred’s best attempts to clean them off. When they finally came back to reality, they looked around confused for a few moments before pushing themself into a sitting position.

“Where… Iosefka’s clinic?” They were mostly speaking to themself, but Alfred’s gentle hand was on theirs in a moment. His smile was apologetic.

“Welcome back, Cecil. You had us worried.” He said, and Cecil looked at him blankly for a few seconds, trying to figure out why the man seemed… Smaller. One of the outer layers of the Executioner’s robes was gone, and Cecil was about to ask where it was before they realized that it was clenched in their fist. 

“I only left your side for a moment. The doctor, she wanted to give you treatment for your ribs, so I stepped out to give you privacy, but we couldn’t get your hand off of my cloak.” Alfred explained as he set the garment back into place. “Quincy and I discussed it, and decided this would be the best place to take you. We didn’t want to scare anyone at the Cathedral Ward. Quincy should be back soon, he left to make sure all was well with the others. We… Haven’t told anyone about what happened to you. It seemed tactless. Oh- And I’m sorry, but your shirt was destroyed. I have some church robes here, but I understand if you do not wish to wear them.”

Cecil had indeed been looking down at themself, unsure why their shirt had seemingly vanished. It was rude, but they found themself starting to tune out Alfred, grey eyes instead scanning the gloom for the doctor herself. When the robes were offered, Cecil did take them, pulling them on to fight against Yharnam’s cold.

“Why was I holding on to your cloak?” Cecil finally asked, glancing back at Alfred - Iosefka was nowhere in sight.

“I, um. I carried you from the cathedral after you… Well, sort of exploded. I don’t really know what happened. Quincy and I were hoping you could explain it.”

“I ain’t seen anything like it myself.” Quincy’s drawl announced his return, making Alfred’s face light up for a few moments before he seemed to remember that something seemingly unexplainable happened to Cecil. “Not to mention you shot something from your hands.”

Cecil swung their legs around to the side of the bed, gingerly testing their weight. Judging by how little it hurt, they had received blood treatment. The hunter sighed, scratching their hair as they thought about what to say.

“It’s called Amygdala. The thing that made me… Bleed like that.” They eventually said, though only Alfred showed any recognition.

“Like the statues?” He asked, somewhat bemused. “But… Those depict Great Ones. They’re not. You can’t  _ see  _ those, can you?”

“I said I was part of the Choir at one point, didn’t I?” Cecil retorted, rubbing their eyes before slowly standing. “I… I see things. Everywhere. All the time. It started when I was just a kid, little… Gaunt things that would take notes places. Started calling them messengers. Didn’t mean much at first, but… Hell, I was born in Yharnam. I was raised in the church. Once they got wind of it, I was fast tracked to the Choir. They needed more people who could see, and gods I loved it at first.”

The hunter smiled, nostalgia tinting their time in the Choir rose-gold. They shook their head, chuckling to themself. Once again, Cecil looked around for Iosefka, and not seeing her, they continued.

“Then I found out about some of the experiments the Choir was running. Decided I needed to find out the truth for myself. They… Trained me a bit too well, I think. Delving into arcane secrets was my calling, I wanted to help humankind ascend. I still do.” Cecil’s expression soured. “But some of the things I learned my colleagues and superiors were doing and had done - especially during the time when there was cooperation between the Choir and the Scholars of Mensis… I felt it was my duty as someone trying to usher in humanity’s next step to speak out. And then…” 

They trailed off, expression bitter as they collected their weapons.

“You did not leave the Choir by choice, did you?” Alfred’s voice was soft. Cecil didn’t answer - at least not in words. The way they averted their eyes, seeming to fold in on themself at the question was answer enough.

“Wait for me outside, please.” Cecil finally said, looking over to Alfred and Quincy with their haunted, tired eyes. “I need to talk to the good doctor first. Alone.”

\---

The back rooms of the clinic weren’t the cleanest, though no area of Yharnam was. One would hope that a place of healing wouldn’t be covered in bloodstains and grime, but that was simply not the case. At least the needles were boiled and flame-sterilized before blood ministration took place, which was more than Cecil had seen with some of the old hunters. A floorboard creaked under their foot, and the woman bent over one of the tables straightened up, fixing Cecil with her gaze before forcing a smile.

“Ah. Cecil. Feeling better?” She asked as the hunter closed the distance between the two of them and grabbed her by the neck, baring their teeth.

“Care to explain why I’m not one of those things in your back room?” Cecil hissed. They were taller than the woman, and clearly stronger, but they still looked ready to run should the woman make any move in her defense.

“Let’s call it professional courtesy.” The woman - not Iosefka, though she looked identical to the doctor - replied, placing her hand on Cecil’s and pulling it away from her neck. “Even if you are a heretic. It would be a waste of a mind like yours.”

“Courtesy, pah.” Cecil all but spat, jerking their hand away from not-Iosefka’s. “More like  _ curiosity _ . You want to see how far I get. Give me a reason not to kill you.”

The woman only smiled, her eyes hard. The air around her hand seemed to ripple, the cosmos itself peeking through for a moment. Cecil backed off, still glaring at the imposter. Her message was clear - Cecil wouldn’t get a chance to. If they as much as raised their weapon they would be dead where they stood. A muscle twitched in the hunter’s jaw as they clenched their teeth, finally breaking eye contact with not-Iosefka and storming out of the room.

\---

“I need to go to Byrgenwerth.” Cecil announced to Alfred and Quincy once the hunters had regrouped outside the clinic. “There’s. There’s something I need to do there. You may come with me, or not. The choice is yours - you are both welcome, but I will not ask you to come.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Also the only connection to Sainted is the general pre-game timeline of things because I like how Aster set everything up, and also Quincy is here because I think it's fun to have my friend's hunter and my hunter interact. So there's no connection to Sainted. You should still read Sainted though it's really good.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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